Brand and Vaeol - Chapter 6

  2. Vealae – 2nd day on the Deepwood Floor (12th of Scoutfare)   We are now sure we are tracking a good-size sith, maybe twelvesome, though whence they came or what they do we have no inkling. Still they fare northward, which is well for us, for any other way we would have not enough stocks to reach homeward. As it is, it may be a near thing. Our groundfare is slower, and we must watch twice-hard. We march with flankers and watchers fore and rear, line switching riders and shooters afoot. I cast glowfloats over the main body to help us reckon steadship. Whenever we find spoor, I must kindle a witchlight to get good sight.   We found another campstead, and the Shota snuffled another spot we believe soaked with the bloody red sap. Along with the heavyset sandal-swathes we found true feet, big and easily Korasha size, but even longer. We reckon they are going slowly, which may mean we will soon catch them.   Here on the weird-glowing Darkfloor, we can no longer reckon day from night. Now I sit watch with two others while all else sleep. Right after we camped, I shortly bedded down. Remaue lay against me within my arms. Her soft hips and shoulders had never felt so good. We no longer reck whoever may see. I think all feel samely under this overlooming dankness.     4. Lamashan - 13th Day North of the Gatestead, 14th Day on Castrovel   I’m glad I got to keep this journal. Things are getting interesting. Our day began with toiling through a jungle-like undergrowth, a motley of giant mushrooms with glowing cap-bottoms (we were grateful for the light) and tall frondy ferns. It made our going even slower while we wound among the thicker groves, still carrying Vern.   While we took a break, Bikker signed a warning and beckoned around. I sat and checked. The benighted underbrush had gone still. All the buzzes and chitters we had grown used to in these hellish two weeks had faded, all but the ever-present rain-drip. Something this jungle didn’t like prowled near. I took no chances and ordered the men on guard: Vern and Draxy in the midst while I and the rest faced outward with shields and blades ready. Tightly I gazed out over my rim. Something felt wrong, though none of the cursed walking flowers lurked nearby. Nothing stirred within the tree stumps, which worried me more.   I felt moreso than saw a blurry drift overhead. Unthinkingly I stepped and tilted backward, lifted shield, and braced. My action saved my life, and maybe Vern’s and Draxy’s too, when a good 200-pound weight landed on my plated shield and nearly drove me to ground. I yelled warning and dumped the unknown load sideward, where a snarling whirl of fur, fangs, and snapping limbs tumbled. I got a short glimpse of a catllike shape, long as a lion but thinner, with stripy shades in its hide, two long buglike feelers where ears should be, and two long whip-limbs sprouting from its shoulders. Luckily, the men beside me spotted it too, right before it faded from sight, leaving us staring at the empty ground.   To the men’s credit, they didn’t gape or dither, but hunkered on guard and closed on the spot where the cat-monster had briefly showed. The space where it had appeared, however, proved empty when Bikker waved his weapon through it. We stood with ready blades, ears tweaking, waiting for the next sign of this unearthly hunter.   Then the cat-thing showed again with a blurry leap and storm of coiling, striking tentacles. One cracked right before my face, shooting sparks, and gave off a stench like hot iron. Vizzi went down, and the thing pounced atop him. He tried to block its teeth with his sword, and it bit his arm. While he tried to fight free, we swarmed the monster’s blurry back. It yowled wrathfully. Then its stinging whip-limbs snapped again, and it leapt away.   Hastily, I got everyone moving for cover. Vizzi could walk, but we were still carrying Vern, which needed two on the litter, and Draxy was no fighter and merely stood to carry packs. That left us with seven able fighters guarding five. Against a bad foe, angry and hungry, who could move unseen, I did not like our odds. Our best bet lay in finding shelter, something defensible where we could shut down paths to our flanks and rear and meet any threat head-on, even if invisible.   I headed us into one of the weird fern brakes that broke the otherwise low-rising mushroom undergrowth. My first thought was the frond-brush might give warning of any stealthiness. Unluckily, at knee height it was perfect for the weird cat-monster to move through on all fours. I would take anything - an overturned stump, an upright tree - so long as we could set all our back to it. I cursed the landscape and swiftly led us out to the other side.   Light blinded when I stepped through the ferns' far side, the cold searing kind spelled by wizards. Under its glare a dozen shadows loomed on guard. I saw wide-crested helms, spears upraised, and bows nocked and drawn. Gods be good, there were people! Then I witted the steeds they rode, nothing familiar about them. There were some kind of wingless drake or giant lizard. At our presence from the ferns, they bellowed raspily, snouts questing the air.   At their line’s midst, right across from me, sat a tall rider, towering in armor. At sight, I could only call it a knight. The magelight shone in a ball floating over the Knight’s head, who lowered a wide-bladed spear at my chest and spoke something warbling. Yet I did not need to know to understand a challenge. My men's welfare hung in balance between the stealthy cat-hunter behind and these warriors before. With no more thought, I knelt. I laid my sword before the Knight’s lizard-steed. I pointed backward, where doubtlessly the hunting horror still lurked.   The Knight seemingly understood, though oddly, it did not speak, As if on cue, however, the invisible cat-monster behind us screeched, which caught the new warriors’ attention. The knight lifted spear, and the troop moved forward, all but four of the bowmen, who holstered their bows, drew stout war-axes from their belts, and settled roundshields on their arms. While the main troop moved into the brake, they stayed with us.   A tense silence passed while we waited. Were the four guards our captors? I guessed so. Yet my men had the wits not to make trouble, even though it would have been our best chance to flee. I took hap to look over the guarding figures. All four were shorter than us, and over a foot shorter than me, but broadly squat and massively thewed, almost Dwarf-like. Aside from their helms, shields, studded belts, and armbands, they were unarmored. The belts, however, held a silver badge resembling a sunburst. Their helmets oddly hold a fanlike crest-brim running across the bowl’s front. Aside from cheek plates, their helms were open, showing bright eyes and bearded mouths. On their waists they wore pleated hide kilts. Aside from this harness, they were bare-skinned, showing sundry hues of brown, red, and green skin unders sweat-matted hair on shoulders, chest, and back. Back on Golarion, I would have guessed them Orcs.   Then came shrieks from beyond the fern-brake, and more than only the cat-monster. Maybe the riding-drakes? We all waited breathlessly. An unspeakable moment stretched.   Then from the ferns came riders on their lizards, and the bowmen beside them. The Knight came walking on foot, and its steed following. It had also doffed helm, revealing features for the first time. I saw a crestlike, rosy-blond braid atop a face of golden-brown, with sides shorn short from temple to ears, and ruddy stripes running along, wide slanted golden eyes, and a smooth, soft face bare of any beard. If I had to guess, I would say it was a woman.   Even odder, from her brow sprouted two feelers, just like on a bug’s head. While I watched, they twitched and lashed.   A bowman came up to the Knight and spoke. He likewise removed helm, baring shortly cropped hair over a full beard. He was almost two feet shorter than she, who even had a couple inches on my six feet. Like her, he grew feelers from his head, but afterward the resemblance ended. Where she was tall, he was squat. Where she was slim, we was thick and broad. Where she was smooth and fine, he was rough and hairy. If not for those queer twitching feelers, I would have thought them nothing like.   I remembered the lore I had read back in Absalom: "The men look like Dwarves, and the women like Elves." I stared at them and wondered whether they could somehow be of the same kind. My head could not reckon it. Were these the warrior-race who shared this world with Elves?   The Knight came to me and overlooked searchingly. Then her feelers shuddered, almost buzzingly. Puzzled, I watched, unsure what she was doing. Was this her trying to communicate, or some alien spellcraft?   Then within my head rang a voice, loud as if someone were talking right in front of my face. Even odder, it spoke in Elvish, though too fast for me to catch. In surprise, I flinched while trying to see whence the weird voice came from. The only thing I could see was the Knight and her feelers quivering. On a whim I spoke to her in Elvish. She startled immediately, and the voice in my head stopped. In Elvish she spoke back, a clear musical voice that fit the words well, and more fluently than I. Yet I got the gist: she bade we must yield our weapons.   We were wounded, out of food, and lost far from home. I bade the men hand over their weapons and shields.   Soon as they gathered our arms, the lizard-riders saddled up, the bowmen ringed us, and they led us off through the undergrowth. A rough hour later, we came on a grove of glowing, polypy plants, within which our captors made camp. We were grateful for the light. Also, they built a fire and set watch while the lizards grazed on stalks. The Knight, again in Elvish, bade us yield all our gear, which we obeyed. Then she ordered us to strip all our clothes. I didn’t like it, but then witted we must look so strange to them as they did to us. Though I didn’t mind baring skin under this world’s heavy heat, it felt odd to stand exposed. They looked us all over, even going through our seams and pockets, every keepsake, coin, and rags no matter how small.   While I stood naked, the Lady Knight and two other drake-riders (in hide breastplates and kilts lighter than hers) came to me. Again the Elven voice sounded in my head while her feelers quivered. I could only guess it was her speaking straight into my mind. So I answered best as I could, and told we come from Golarion, pointing upward. For better or worse, I told we come from another world. The Lady Knight paused, doubtlessly pondering this unbelievable news. Then she asked if I meant ‘Red Queen’ or ‘Blue Queen’. Since I have heard Akiton named the Red Star, I guessed Golarion must be blue, owing to its seas.   Then she asked me the oddest question: are we Azlanti? Unthinkingly, I answered no, and instantly regretted it. I realized her people’s last contact with Humankind might have happened before Earthfall, when the Azlanti, as legend tells, explored the stars and maybe even came here. So I explained the Azlanti had also been from our world.   Unsurprisingly, she asked why we are here. Seeing no reason to keep secrets, I described Archmaster Virian’s quest, only withholding details that might overly confuse. I described the accident with the worldgate, and the attack by the walking, flesh-eating flower before the cat-fiend hunted us. Then I asked her help to save my men.   Afterward, they gave us back our clothes. Even more thankfully, they fed us. It reminded me of a nutty rice soaked in honeyed vinegar, not unlike what one finds in Tian Xia. The Lady Knight told us they would take us back to their city. She also sent off four lizard-riders, maybe to bear a message. Also, she took Vizzi and Vern aside. While I watched, she laid hands on them each. Before my eyes, their wounds were healed, wordlessly, and with no priestcraft I have ever seen. Vizzi’s arm was barely scarred, and Vern’s leg was mangled for no more than an angry red welt. Within a half-day, all our bad luck was overthrown.   I remembered Vanya’s divination that we would find help northwards. I was never so glad that she was right.     3. Vealae – 3rd day on the Deepwood Floor (13th of Scoutfare)   We have met our prey, and they are truly odd.   After we broke camp (I falter to name it daytide), nigh midwatch, we heard a din ahead along the northward path. Our forward scout brought word of wights ahead, gathered under a mushroom-tree, and who seemingly were fighting something. At once I dightened our troop to a line; shooters mixed with riders, and softly bade us forward.   Anon, from a fern-bed burst shapes, but twenty strides ahead and fleeing right at us. At once all bows were drawn, and the Shota roared. As they halted swiftly, we beheld twelvesome wights, one whomof was borne on a stretcher. They were dirty and oddly clothed. Most bore weapons and shields, and some byrnies of oddly hued hide. I shrive I knew not what to forelook, and surely not they would freeze and gape. Those rearward began backing away until a taller one near the fore (their leader) barked in rough voice. Then they stayed.   Against all outlook, this leader laid down his sword and raised his hands. Then he beckoned back the way they had come and barked more gibberish. I reminded our scout had told they had been fighting, and heeded the Darkfloor's balethings. Swiftly I overlooked these outlanders. Even weaponed, I deemed them in no shape for either fight or flight. So I left four Korasha to ward them and took the troop forward into the fernbrake.   Right within the far side I halted us and waited. Off ahead I heard a low snarl and felt Ess tighten. I outfelt through my steed’s wits and beheld it a coeurl and big, stalking on soft paws along the outlander’s path. Ess smelled blood on its fangs and whiskers. From the loft's quiver, he could even feel the shock growing in its whiplimbs.   Soon as I bewared, I outspread warmind to the others beside me, had them beware too, and readied.   Not twenty strides away, the coeurl witted us. It snarled again, sniffed, and crouched. I knew what came next, and also that it saw no mere Shota and rider as threat.   Ere it leapt, I had Ess brunt. Already my swordbill was aimed forward and upward, for I foreguessed its leap. True to my thought, I felt through Ess it hurdle aloft at me; claws bare and wide, its twin whiplimbs wound to strike. I remind thrusting at its face, then a hurtful flash, and nothing.   I awoke and found myself flat aback, and beside me Ess wounded and wallowing to foot while Erymi and Remaue overleaned me. In the breathtide my swordbill smote the coeurl, its whiplimb had shocked me. It and Ess had brunted together; claws and teeth locked. Then the two flank-riders, locked in war-mind with me, had stricken its flanks and buried their weapons blade-deep. Two Korasha had followed and had sunken their axes into neck and skull. We had slain a mighty wildthing.   For my own share, soon as my Firstspear and shieldbearer recked I was shaken but otherwise unharmed, they helped me to feet. Then the whole troop cheeringly chided me that only an outrider would be so sotten as to charge a coeurl. I took their kindly reproof, bade the Korasha behead and flay the thing, and then saw to my poor Ess.   Bywardly, Tae brought word that the Outlander wretches still waited. I left my Shotalashu in good hands and went back with another foursome host, where I found them tending their wounded fellows and giving their wardens little bother. I took my first long look at these Outlanders and their oddness, notwithstanding their gibberish speech. On a whim I again went to their leader and tried mindspeech. To my forecaughtness, he answered in ill-shapen Elvish. I reckoned this news and bade them stand down. A breathtide he gazed, and then looked to his fellows. At his word they all cast their weapons to ground.   I bade Oshis find us all a fast campstead, whither he led us to a glowfern grove whose light well bestood. Soon as we set watch, I overlooked our caught thralls. At first I had guessed them Elves, unleastly for their leader’s speech, and forwhy also they have no antennae. Yet they also have beards, which made no good thought. There skin and hair are oddly wan, switching dark, bronze, and light, but no green, copper, or bronze.   With axes raised, we took all their gear and searched thoroughly. Their clothes and harness were queerly cut, and their leather stank oddly. The red sap we had found was indeed their blood, as shown on their two wounded, though I have never seen blood so darkly red. They also wore high sandals that hid not only their toes and whole foot, by also whelmed their legs almost to knee. So I bade them strip, which they withholdingly listened.   Their bodies deepened our wonder, for they are all manly, and not a wife among. A few were white as only some Elves show and stripeless in their skins, and as tall, though their ears are round like ours. They are almost hairy as Korasha, though I falter to name them so. Also their gear and stocks proved foodless, meaning they were likely half-starved. Whatever had been their thought coming hither, it had mistaken and threatened their lives.   I took the leader aside with both Erymi and Tae and questioned him. He spoke enough Elvish to have rough meaninghhood, though when I tried mindspeech, he ever answered throatsomely, whereby I guess they have no soulknack. He yielded his name is Brand, and they come from a stead he named ~Qolaryon~.   When I asked where is Qolaryon, he pointed heavenward. Told he, they had come through an elfgate to our world. I asked him whether by Qolaryon he meant Red-Queen or Blue-Queen. He looked at me a breathtide and then answered that he knows not these names, though his world is not red, and its seas are blue.   I stepped back while I watched and weighed him. Then I asked whether he is Aslanta. This wrought befuddleness, for first he naysaid. Then he said that, though he is not Aslanta, the Aslanta had hailed from his same world. When I asked how the Aslanta looked, he answered they looked right like him. I asked how this was so, whereat he told the Aslanta had long ago died, but that their afterchildren still outlive in some lands. So I asked of what kind were the Aslanta, whereat he answered they were the same as he. At last, I think I stared at him for well over a tidespan and almost thought him mad. Then I forsoothed that what I meant by the kind named Aslanta, he meant a folk named Aslanta. Our word for his kind was to him a folk’s name, who had many yearthousands ago fared to our world. The kind outlives, even if the folk no longer.   I then asked their business coming hither. He answered they had come through an elfgate that lies some days southward (and I know not). A seer had sent them, who wished sundry things found only here. Yet the gate had broken. So they had left seeking haven. Then their first fellow was witlessly wounded by a moonflower, and whose blood had drawn hunters. Right today while they camped, the couerl had stricken and wounded their other, whereafter we found them.   Brand their leader showed eager to gladden us. He swore listfulness if we would save his troop and help them go back to their world. I was aloss at this wonder. Yet on rede with Erymi and Tae, we yaysaid we must bring them back to Son and let the Matrons deem whether to give them elf-right. So we told him we shall bring them back to our city, whereat he bowed and wept.   Two things next I did. I called Oshis, bade him choose three Shota-riders, and lead them back to Son with word of our coming and to bring backstrength. They left forthwith. Next, I went to the two wounded Aslanta and used what soulcraft I could to heal them. While I mended their flesh, I worry of sickness. The couerl wound is yet fresh, but the moonflower-wound already had days to sicken. I might not forestall rot.